


Chasing the Sun

by Tousled_Sky



Series: Land of Enchantment [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adoptive family, Alpha James T. Kirk, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bounty Hunters, Coercion, Depression, Family, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt No Comfort, Imprisonment, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, No one actually gets raped but it's tagged for the attempted rape, On the Run, Other, Past Child Abuse, Past Slavery, Past Torture, Siblings, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, khan whump, omega Khan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16536716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tousled_Sky/pseuds/Tousled_Sky
Summary: Khan’s never known the feeling of true safety.Of true freedom.





	Chasing the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I beg of you, please read the tags for this.  
> That being said, this has been in the making a long time.  
> The conditions that Khan lived in as a child were heavily inspired by Laura's origin story from the movie Logan, hence why the lab is set in Mexico.  
> Khan's brother is named Ethan, and his adoptive mother is Juana.  
> Leave me a comment, loves~

The cramps come on Cronus.

Khan lies on the cold, damp rocks, arms curled around his stomach as he sweats and hurts. Even through the pain, he’s grateful that his heat is coming now, rather than having come when he was Marcus’s captive. Marcus never knew he was an Omega; as an Augment, Khan doesn’t give off much of a natural Omega scent. He still had one; back when he lived with Juana, he had taken scent suppressants along with his heat suppressants. But there’s been no medication like that for him since he’s woken; he couldn’t obtain it without outing himself, and if Marcus knew he was an Omega…well, not only would Khan not be permitted to be on suppressants, but he’s sure other, _very_ bad things would have happened to him.

However, Marcus never knew Khan’s true secondary gender, instead simply assuming he was a beta. Khan’s been sickly ever since being woken; he’s not been able to eat or sleep, almost at all, due to the stress from Marcus dangling swords over the heads of his still-sleeping crew. The terror of losing any of them had kept him awake, working through the night to try to find a way to get them out; designing the missiles to conceal his sleeping kin. The exhaustion from overwork had dampened his scent to the point where he didn’t even need suppressants anymore to hide it. Now, all he needed was a shower with soap that was relatively scent-blocking, and he was fine for the day.

In fact, he’d been sickly enough that he’d hoped that he’d skip this heat; that had happened once before when he and his family were fleeing from bounty hunters through the Mojave Desert. That chase had lasted f _ive months_ before they’d finally had an opportunity to jump state borders and get from Nevada to Idaho. However, the then fifteen-year-old Khan didn’t have a single heat in the five-month period, despite usually having one every three months (at least, that was the frequency when he wasn’t on suppressants; and during the chase, neither Khan nor his family had any access to medication). But standing at 5’4 and weighing only 90 pounds, he simply wasn’t healthy enough for his body to initiate a heat.

Apparently, this time he was healthy enough, if barely so. He knew these cramps – these weren’t from hunger or stress. He’d had those frequently enough in the past few months while working under Marcus and, in the process, going against everything Juana had ever taught him. Though the pains always sent him into a slight panic, terrified his heat was finally underway, he always calmed down once he realized they didn’t feel quite right to be heat cramps.

These did.

A particularly sharp set of cramps ripped through him, and he curled his arms in tighter around his stomach, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

Though Khan had gone through heats before, it had never been without some particularly strong painkillers. He groaned at the sharp pain in his stomach, the feel like a knife twisting, sweating in the cold night and wondering how his ancestors ever dealt with heat pain before prescription painkillers.

It occurred to him that they probably didn’t. There was a point to heats, after all – to propagate the species. His Omega ancestors probably got pregnant every time they had a heat.

Khan thinks that sounds terrible, to be either pregnant or caring for a newborn all the time. Omegas usually didn’t have a heat for at least a year after having a pup; their biology giving them a respite since a newborn pup is so much effort. And almost a year pregnant with the pup and then a year without a heat – that’s still a heat, and as a result, a pregnancy about every two years.

Khan’s read plenty of books with historical focus. He’s gone to school, attended history class. Hell, he even met people, back before he was frozen, that lived “in the traditional way”. He can’t understand it, but apparently some people – even some Omegas – liked that kind of life. Having a fuckton of kids with a mate and raising them together. That was the fairytale ending, the American dream.

That’s what made them happy.

It’s such a strange concept to Khan.

Being happy, as an Omega.

\---

By the time he surrenders, the cramps are worse.

They always start out a day or two before the heat starts, very mild; just little stings, maybe a discomfort or slight pain at worst. They’ll gradually intensify over the subsequent hours; soon enough, he’ll flare up with fever and heat will follow within the hour.

Lying on the bumpy, hard rock of Cronus, Khan had hoped with all his heart that no Federation soldiers would show up. He’d found a relatively hidden spot, and was hopeful he wouldn’t be discovered. Like all Omegas, Khan gave off far more pheromones once his heat started than usual. With his not-in-heat reduced amount of pheromones, an Alpha would have trouble scenting him unless they were at very close range. Most Omegas were scentable from a few meters, but an Alpha would probably have to get within a foot or two of Khan before they could identify him as an Omega; and that’s if he’s in optimal health.

(Just one of the many perks of those nice scientists twisting his DNA up like a kitten with a ball of string. Now, if only he could enjoy the good things, like an advanced healing factor and super-strength, without having to deal with the downsides – like being chased by bounty hunters with strict orders to bring him back _ALIVE._

Khan was certain that he’d rather die than to be caught. Than to go back.)

Even if his usual scent was fairly weak, he produced almost as many pheromones as a human Omega during heat. While he was in heat, a _Beta_ could pin Khan as an Omega from a dozen feet away. And though a human would be able to track him very easily by his heat-scent, that wouldn’t be an issue while he was on Cronus; there were no humans. Though there were Klingons, they were a race that had evolved without secondary genders, and instead only had the primary ones. As such, they didn’t have the specialized sense of smell that Alphas, Omegas, and even Betas possessed. They wouldn’t be able to scent him out.

Humans would. And that’s why Khan didn’t want Federation officers to show up, at least until the week was through.

But Khan’s wanted a lot of things. He wanted his family to remain free and together and alive after the escape. But what he got was his mother being shot in the head, falling to the ground as his brother was ripped from his grasp. What he got was Ethan being dragged away by bounty hunters as he screamed and cried out for Khan, terrified and in pain. What he got was a face full of chloroform and a syringe full of anesthesia to subdue him enough to throw him in the back of a car, and then a few hundred years imprisoned in cryostatis.

Khan never gets what he wants. So it figures that the Federation officers would show up before his heat even started, instead of after it’s finished.

Which is why he’s lying on the floor of the brig, facing the wall and pretending to sleep when the blood fever sets in and he feels the start of slick dampen his pants. He grits his teeth, feeling all of his skin heat to the temperature of the too-hot bruises on his face, the skin dark and swollen and heated from where Kirk had hit him after he surrendered.

The cramps were slowly abating, but this was worse.

 This was going to be hell.

\---

Khan’s never lived for himself.

He’s never had the chance.

His life so far can be divided into three distinct phases. The first came when he was small, so much smaller than he is now. Back when he was a child covered in lacerations and burns, when he was held underwater until he passed out from lack of oxygen, or starved until he was too weak to lift his head as men and women in white coats took notes on his endurance and recovery rates. Before he even realized that he was a beta test, and not the finished product, or knew what the finished product would be used for. That’s when he lived underground with other Augment children who were dressed in the same white scrubs as he was, who had shaved heads and scarred bodies and ruined minds just like him, who had numbers for names just like him.

That ended with twenty minutes of running bodies and gunshots and Juana triggering the fire alarm to disable the locks on all the exits. Twenty minutes of panic before he was on the surface, eyes watering from the light of the sun; the sun that he’d never seen before.

Thus started the second phase of his life. This was the time where he got closest to living for himself, when he did things that _he_ wanted, things that benefited _him_. It was when he learned how to speak, read, and write English. When he and Ethan would go explore their surroundings for hours on end, marveling at the wide world around them; up until now, their world had been a square half-mile of white concrete hallways. Back in that lifetime, Khan would fall asleep outside as he stared up at the stars, wondering if people would ever go live in space like they did in the science fiction books he liked to read.

But he still couldn’t live for himself, not entirely. He still had to play the game that fate demanded of him, just so he could retain what little freedom he had. He had to live for his family, as much as they lived for him; just trying to stay together and alive. They lived for each other every time they drove long nights right through one state and into another, every time they regrouped and fled when they’d been discovered by bounty hunters. He lived for his family every night that he and Ethan would lie at the edge of the tree line, when they lived in North Dakota, and watch the Canadian border for any sort of opening.

Khan can’t remember how many nights he lay in the dirt and leaf litter and hoped to spot an opening in the border security. Maybe if he’d been doing so before Trump’s second term in office, he would have. But America now wasn’t like America pre-2020; back before the borders had been completely locked down. No one came into the country “illegally”, but really, all that meant was that no one came into the country at all. And since the need for identification at the border went both ways, and none of them had anything of the sort, that meant they weren’t getting out of the country, either.

At least, not to Canada. If they were caught trying to jump the border, they’d be deported to Mexico. Juana was clearly Latina, and while Khan and Ethan were both only half-Mexican, and therefore white-passing, the ICE agents had taken to deporting anyone caught who didn’t have entirely Arian features. Ethan might be okay, with his brown hair and green eyes, but Khan had black hair and dark eyes, and would never make it past. Not that Ethan or Khan would ever want to make it to Canada without Juana, anyways.

They couldn’t risk being deported; right beyond the southern border was the lab they’d escaped from. As such, if they were deported to Mexico, their chances of capture shot through the roof. Juana would be killed, and Khan and Ethan would be reclaimed as the legal property of their torturers. They had to get across the Northern border safely – that was their only hope. Canada was offering refugee status to any Americans seeking asylum; that started when the big cities started being placed under martial law and the riot police switched out their rubber bullets for real ones. If they could only jump the border, they’d finally be safe.

But they didn’t ever get across. They got captured, Juana was killed, and Khan and Ethan were dragged back to the underground labs that they had escaped nearly a decade ago.

And thus began the third phase of his life, when his property status shifted from property of lab scientists to property of Admiral Alexander Marcus. In this phase of his life, he was undoubtedly living for his family. Every time he permitted Marcus to insult him, to order him around, to hit him – to _touch_ him – it was all for their sake. They were the people he loved most in the world, and they couldn’t protect themselves, sleeping and frozen. He had to live to save them.

He’s trying _so hard_ , but they’re still not safe. They’ve never been safe; they’ve always either been slaves or hunted down. Khan’s never known the feeling of true safety. Of true freedom.

He’s starting to doubt he ever will. Maybe those hot summer evenings he spent with Ethan, walking down the abandoned railroad tracks for miles and miles, is the closest thing he’ll ever have gotten to living a free life.

He wants it, so _badly_. But everything so far has been a dead end. He ran for a _decade_ and still was caught in the end. He re-designed torpedoes to hide his family, and the only thing that did was get all of them stranded on an enemy starship in the middle of space. He doesn’t know how to help his family, much less save them.

And he’s so, so _tired_ of this struggle.

His family needs him to keep fighting for them. They’re asleep and can’t fight for themselves. They could be killed and couldn’t do as much as flinch. They could be woken and forced to work for the Federation like he was. They could be taken back underground, tested like they were machines and not living things. They need him to fight for them.

And he loves them enough to do it. He loves them enough to kill for them (hence the bruises on his face from a furious Kirk), even if it goes against everything Juana ever taught him about “hurt no living thing”. He loves them enough to put aside his own ideals in exchange for their safety; to live for them.

Perhaps, then, it’s a testament to just how tired he is when he almost takes the easy way out.

Khan doesn’t know what kind of idiots they’ve got watching him, but one of the guards is turned with his back to Khan and his phaser on his hip.

Khan almost reaches for it.

He knows the guard would think he’d turn it on the crew. And he could. He could take it and fight his way through the Enterprise with it, but that wouldn’t do him any good; he’d have no way to get his family off the ship, and besides, they’re in the middle of space. There’s nowhere to _go._

He doubts he’d even be able to get far enough for that to be an issue, though. Not like he is right now – ten pounds underweight, sleep-deprived, malnourished, and on the brink of heat. He’d be tackled to the floor in a matter of minutes. The past few months he’s spent working for Marcus have made him unhealthy and weak, and they’ve aged him drastically. He looks like he’s in his forties; no one would believe that he’s actually only twenty-three (at least, that’s his best estimate; he was never told his date of birth and doesn’t know his exact age).

So no, fruitlessly fighting his way through the ship isn’t his plan for the gun. Rather, Khan stares at it and thinks about how it would be so _easy._ So easy to just yank the phaser away, switch it from “stun” to “kill”, and pull the trigger with the barrel pressed to his temple.

He doubts even his Augment healing factor would be able to bring him back from that.

No more hate-filled stares and swinging fists from the crew of the _Enterprise._ No trial on Earth for his “misdeeds” that would doubtlessly end with a life sentence in prison. No more anything, not hurt or fear or sadness.

He only hesitates a moment, but that’s enough time for the window of opportunity to slam shut as the guard turns to face Khan, the phaser shifting out of his reach.

A feeling pulses in Khan’s chest in time with his heartbeat. He can’t tell if it’s fear from what he could have done, or disappointment that he didn’t get to do so.

\---

He’s _dying._

The blood fever has set in, and his heat is starting. His entire skin is flushed with the fever, dampening with sweat even as he shivers. He can feel his pants, already torn and dirty from his time on Cronus, starting to dampen more and more with slick. It’s a sticky, soggy feeling that makes him shift uncomfortably where he’s lying.

He has no idea what he’s going to do. This feels like a terrible dream. He’s a prisoner on a starship filled with people who hate him and would doubtlessly be glad to do him harm, and he’s at his most vulnerable right now.

A good deal of them are Alpha’s – Khan could tell from their scents while walking through the halls to the brig. And an Omega’s heat doesn’t just allow harm where an Alpha is concerned; rather, it almost invites it. Of course, this is true more so with certain types of Alphas; in particular, the ones who think they’re entitled to an Omega’s body. While Omega pheromones do cloud an Alpha’s judgement, using that as an excuse for rape isn’t a far cry from using being drunk as an excuse for rape. And that’s all it is – an excuse. Not a justification. Not a reason.

But Alphas still raped Omegas and used heat as an excuse; it happened before Khan was frozen, and he’s heard about it plenty of times after he’d been awakened, as well. And that wasn’t how it should be, but it’s how it was.

Khan’s had heats before; an Omega will typically go into heat for a week every three months, adding up to a total of four times a year. Though Khan was on heat suppressants, he needed to go through at least one heat a year to keep himself healthy.

And so he knows what heat does – and what it does is render him effectively helpless.  When he’d had heats with Juana and Ethan, Juana would have to spoon-feed him, and prop him up into a sitting position to hold a water bottle to his lips so he could drink. Ethan would have to lift him up to carry him from the bedroom to bathroom a few times a day. He’d squirm restlessly through the middle of heat with the need to be touched, the need for an Alpha; burning for something that his family couldn’t give him. He couldn’t walk, couldn’t speak, could barely even think. He spent most of his time drugged up on very powerful (and also probably very illegal) painkillers, sleeping. The sleep was never very restful – even with the painkillers, he still was hurting enough that he was roused out of sleep fairly often.

But now he doesn’t have any painkillers. He doesn’t have his family who loves him and who would never hurt him. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

He wishes he could figure out a way to protect himself. But it’s getting harder to move, and it’s getting harder to think, and it’s becoming impossible to even make the effort.

So Khan just lies on the floor, facing the wall, and sweats and hurts and fears.

\---

The door to the brig slides open about an hour later.

Khan’s heartbeat picks up as he flinches – he’s still got enough function to his muscles to do that, at least. He won’t be fully inert until maybe another day into the heat. Right now, he’s still able to stand, but walking without assistance might be a challenge. He’s got enough strength left in his arms to maybe lift fifteen or twenty pounds, but no more. Which is quite the drop from his usual strength as an Augment; he’s lifted cars before, when he was at his full power. Hell, he’s actually _flipped them over_ when he was rushing on adrenaline and needed shelter from bounty hunter’s gunfire.

“You’re needed in the briefing room, _Khan._ ” The man speaking practically sneers his name, voice filled with disgust and hate on the syllables. Though his panic, Khan recognizes his voice as one of the guards who escorted him to the brig. Grasping desperately for a plan, he wonders if he can make his limbs function enough for him to make a run for it on adrenaline alone. Maybe lock himself in an empty room and buy himself some time.

Planning to try it – willing to try anything at this point – he somehow pushes himself to his feet. But standing up too fast during heat and staying upright don’t really go hand-in-hand, and as soon as he’s vertical he’s collapsing back to the floor, vision going white for a moment as his temple smacks against the white tile. It takes a few seconds for his vision, as well as his hearing, to come back online.

“-the hell is wrong with you?” The guard asks, voice angry rather than alarmed. From where Khan’s lying on the ground, he can see boots walking closer, and he feels the dread building in his stomach. “Hello?  Get up, you…” the man trails off, and Khan’s eyes flicker up to meet a pair of eyes gone red.

Fuck.

In less than a second, the man is on top of him. Even with his voice slurred with heat, Khan’s screaming, he knows he is, things like “get off of me!” and “no!”, though he doesn’t know if anyone can hear him. More than that, he doesn’t know if he even wants anyone to. This situation is bad as it is, but things can always get worse, and somehow the introduction of more potential Alphas to this scenario doesn’t seem like the ideal choice.

He screams anyways, because he can’t help it. He hasn’t been this scared since the bounty hunters kicked the door down and shot Juana point-blank before drugging and kidnapping him. The Alpha’s on top of him, caging Khan in with his arms with his hips settling heavy on Khan’s own, rocking against him. The man’s already half-hard; Khan can feel the Alpha’s cock against his own, and it makes him sick when he feels his body start to respond in kind to the touch and feel and smell of an Alpha.

That might be the worst part of all this. That his heat was fighting against him fighting back, begging him to instead just let it happen. To submit. Reasoning that the man smelled good and was attractive, with dark hair and light blue eyes and fair, freckled skin. His heat argued that this was an Alpha who would be a good mate, and Khan should stop struggling and just let it happen.

But Khan hates that part of himself. And so he doesn’t just lie back and stop fighting; instead, he punches the Alpha in the face with all the power he still has in his muscles.

Khan’s still got enough strength left that the hit actually makes the man pause, and the next one makes his grip on Khan’s shoulders loosen. Khan keeps hitting him; he’s not some Omega in a bodice ripper that slaps an Alpha one time across the face and expects it to do anything but make them mad. He knows that if he wants to stand a chance in a fight, he can’t stop at one punch; he has to keep hitting them until they start swinging back and he has to start blocking.

Khan knows a thing or two about fighting, considering he’s had formal martial art’s training. He knows how to throw a punch, and coupling his training with his Augment strength, and he could easily beat this man to death if he was at full strength.

But as it is, heat’s sapped enough of his power that he can’t kill this man. Nor can he fight him off.

But he can make him angry trying.

Khan’s wrists are grabbed in one big hand, keeping him from punching the Alpha. He struggles to free himself, but that’s stopped quickly when a fist connects with his temple, pain exploding behind his eyes with the force of it. He can’t do much more through the pain than try to remember how to breathe.

When he blinks away the dark edges from his vision, the Alpha has let go of his wrists in favor of stroking Khan’s dark hair with one hand, holding his weight up with the other. He dips down to kiss Khan’s temple where he struck him, as if in apology, and Khan winces at the feeling of the warm lips against the damaged skin. The Alpha’s mouth leaves Khan’s temple, head dropping down to suck hickeys into the augment’s neck and shoulder, tearing his collar of his shirt when it gets in the way.

The man reaches down to pop the button on Khan’s jeans open as Khan twists underneath him. Khan’s arms are trapped against his sides now, but he’s still attempting to escape; trying to buck the Alpha off, but not having the strength to do so in his current state. Ignoring his thrashing, the Alpha grinds up against Khan, cock almost fully hard now. Belatedly, Khan registers that he’s half-hard himself, his stomach twisting at the realization. He feels tears forming in his eyes, born of fury and humiliation and fear.

Fisting a hand in dark hair and pressing his mouth hard to Khan’s own, the Alpha above him rolls his hips at just the right angle. Unable to twist his head away, Khan gasps against the man’s lips as their cocks slide together through the fabric separating them. It feels _good,_ and Khan hates that it feels good. In a way, it would be better if it hurt, if it stoked the painful burn inside of him higher instead of quieting the flames and soothing the burns. But it doesn’t hurt at all – rather, the touch of an Alpha is a balm for his heat.

Khan can’t control his own body during heat, but a total stranger with the worst intentions can. And for some reason, he seems to think he has the right to do so.

Khan _hates_ that.

He also hates that this Alpha is stronger than him right now; that he can’t win. In that moment, Khan decides that even if he can’t win, he’s sure as hell gonna go down swinging. He’d rather die than be raped, maybe even bitten and claimed, by a federation solider. And, truthfully, he might well die if he fights back against an Alpha in rut.

But it’s not like he has much to live for, if he’s taken from his crew and is never able to see them again. And by this point, Khan knows he’s fucked everything up enough that such a scenario is more than likely.

With that logic in mind, Khan lunges up and bites _hard_ into the Alpha’s neck.

The Alpha howls, and a blow to Khan’s temple has him gasping, teeth releasing their clasp. As soon as the man’s free of Khan’s teeth-vise, he grabs Khan’s wrists in one hand and plants the other in the middle of his chest, slamming him back against the floor so hard his head cracks. With his vision swimming, Khan looks up to see the Alpha growling above him, his neck dripping with blood, smearing across the fair skin.

However, the blood caking the Alpha’s flesh is nowhere near so concerning as the fact that his eyes have gone entirely black.

_Oh, that’s not good_ , Khan sluggishly thinks to himself. Black is the rage color; this Alpha isn’t seeing him as a potential mate at the moment, but rather, as a threat. This isn’t going to be like that little punch to his temple – that was a lovetap compared to what’s coming.

This might kill him.

He can’t roll away. He can’t raise his hands to defend himself. All he can do is brace himself.

The attack never comes.

Instead, suddenly the black eyes are gone, and in their place is a furious blonde Alpha with blue eyes and a golden Captain’s shirt.

 “What in the hell is wrong with you, Ensign! I told you to transport the prisoner to the briefing room, not to attack him!” Kirk is shouting at the man who’s lying on the ground, stunned from an Alpha’s punch. Kirk’s shouting so loud, and the lights are so bright; Khan’s hurting and startled and so entirely overwhelmed that he flinches, _hard_ , when Kirk spins around to face Khan. Kirk’s snapping “And you! What did you…do…” but he trails off as his nostrils flare, obviously scenting Khan. Realizing.

For a horrifying moment, Kirk’s eyes flash red. But then he blinks hard, shaking his head as if to clear it, and stares down at Khan with eyes blue like the sky.

Khan stares back up at him with what he’s sure is a pathetic expression – scared and hurt and (humiliatingly, infuriatingly) still _wanting_. In fact, it’s not just his expression; Khan’s sure all of him is pretty pathetic. He’s splayed on the floor, hair mussed like he’d just been fucked, lips kiss-swollen, shirt torn and hickeys visible. His pants are still unbuttoned, with Khan visibly hard beneath the fabric.

Kirk’s eyes flicker down briefly, taking in the Augment’s state, before coming back up to stare into Khan’s eyes with an unreadable expression.

Khan wishes at that moment, more than anything else, that he’d taken the gun and shot himself when he’d had the chance.


End file.
